


First Dates Don't Always Work Out As Planned

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Vampire High
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Archaic Medical Treatment, Blood Deprivation, Blood Drinking, Bloodletting, Falling In Love, First Dates, Hurt Marty, Hurt Someone to Help Them, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poisoning, Post-Episode: s01e17 Love's Labours Not Lost, Pre-Slash, Protective Murdoch, Romance, Self-Worth Issues, Teacher-Student Relationship, Temporary Character Death, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marty didn’t expect his first date to involve him dragging himself into the Professor’s office, throwing up blood all over his nice carpet. Then again, Marty’s heard something along the lines of: a true friend will stay with you when you're sick, or maybe in this case, <em>lover.</em></p><p>(Or in which Marty is dying and Professor Murdoch helps to speed the process along).</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Dates Don't Always Work Out As Planned

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill on my h/c_bingo card for ‘archaic medical treatment,’ in which I chose bloodletting. 
> 
> Post ‘Love’s Labours Not Lost.’ This is essentially my head canon that Professor Murdoch opens his eyes and realizes that it wasn’t just Merrill who helped save his life, but also Marty, which leads him to confront his feelings for the vampire.

He should have known the blood was bad, but due to distractions and hunger and musing over the Professor, Marty missed the warning signs entirely. One bag of tainted blood: that was enough to kill a vampire. It was really a shame too, but only because the Professor had offered to cook him dinner tonight, as a reward of sorts, a reward for _Merrill_ and Marty recovering his repressed memories and in the process saving his life. Yet somehow only a reward for Marty, who really should be overlooked in all this. Marty was only going along with it because a) he really wanted to stay on the Professor’s good side and b) he really wanted Murdoch to notice him as more than just a student. So yeah, the saving of Murdoch’s life was really all due to Merrill, but if the Professor wanted to paint a different picture then who was Marty to tell him otherwise?

Marty tried his hardest to stick to the script as far as the Experiment went, drinking his daily ration now without much complaint, not regretting the night of bowling he had given up, but really that last part was easy. What was bowling when the Professor’s gaze floated over to him, staring intently for always a long minute until he forced that gaze away?

Really, Marty didn’t mind. He didn’t mind if Murdoch saw him as better than he actually was.

Didn’t mind if the Professor was only into him for just that minute.

He had indulged Merrill in her worries for Murdoch and had even taken a step back when the Professor was alright again, allowing Merrill to reap her praise. Yet now he was here, Murdoch brushing over Merrill now in thanks but settling on Marty as if his hands and his will alone saved the Professor from his fate.

At first Marty thought that this praise and attention and its ensuing guilt was what was making him sick to his stomach.

Now he realized that it was the blood. And maybe a little of the guilt too. Hey, because Marty always liked to torture himself while no one was looking.

The night before Murdoch’s strange behavior was the last night that things were normal. Marty went back to his old self after that, albeit one of a little more observance, but the Professor started acting increasingly odd around him. Odd as in stumbling over his words and chuckling at some of Marty’s quips and going into Marty’s room pretending he was looking for something. It should have been obvious during the first few days, but Marty refused to believe that Murdoch was into him in _that_ way.

The Professor’s main concern was the Experiment; therefore, it was Marty’s priority too.

So he backed off his resistance and started to go with the flow. He paid attention during the lectures, actively focused on his assignments and hey, still managed to grab himself a little downtime in the process. Things were going well for the first week and a half until Professor Murdoch pulled him into his office, with Marty having no clue as to what he wanted from him. You couldn’t blame the vampire: Marty envisioned being berated for something the Professor thought he had done, and maybe he had done it, but damn it, he was a changed man after Merrill had woken him up to a danger that had nothing to do with vampires mixing with humans.

Murdoch bid him sit down in an armchair facing his desk. His hands folded together and rested on the wooden surface, a smile that was small, but only in its hesitance, probably attempting to reassure him but only making Marty’s stomach clench, limbs locking up from the sheer panic of not knowing what the hell was going on.

And there was Murdoch, sitting not two feet away from him, hands moving, fingers twitching slightly but minuscule enough only for a vampire to notice, nothing about him guarded or disapproving or even familiar.

Marty shifted uncomfortably under his open gaze, thinking about how the Professor did have a nice smile, especially since it was currently being directed at him. 

He almost jumped out of his seat at the first words. “Marty, thank you for coming.”

Marty could have sworn that he was very visibly shaking and even sweating, but Murdoch didn’t seem to mind. Marty barely managed a shrug without toppling out of his chair. His stomach was roiling uncomfortably, making him nauseous. “Hey, you called, doc. What can I do for ya?”

“Well,” the Professor unfolded his hands and then refolded them again. Strangely enough, that was the only thing Marty could seem to focus on. “I was hoping that we could get to know each other a little better.”

 _What?!_ His hands now clutched the arms of his chair, fingernails digging into the wood. Murdoch furrowed an eyebrow at him but Marty paid no mind. He had already taken that polygraph test last month, why the hell did he need to do it again? He swallowed about half a dozen times before he was sure he wouldn’t choke, or stutter, on his words. “Sure, doc. Just let me change clothes before you hook me up to that machine thingy."

His first and apparently not also last polygraph test must not have gone well. Murdoch had told him then that he’d done better than the others, that he was proud of him and expected the same attitude from Marty in the future. The Professor’s praise had unsettled him, making the lack of dread prior to the polygraph seem ridiculous. He hadn’t felt like he had done well, he had felt sick days after the test, sick like he felt now.

Why did Murdoch have to be so changeable? One minute praising Marty and another subjecting him to new tests to understand Marty’s past and how he ticked. All when Marty wanted to stop remembering. Why couldn’t he just let up a little?

Murdoch frowned, though Marty didn’t know why considering he had just given in. “Marty, you misunderstand me. I was hoping that me might… well, have dinner together sometime. Perhaps tonight? I’ve been told my lasagna isn’t half-bad.”

The vampire froze, staring intently at Murdoch’s hands, which seemed to be shifting uncomfortably now under his gaze. Eventually even this unnerved him and Marty took to staring at anything in the room that wasn’t Murdoch’s eyes, or rather, anywhere in the vicinity of Murdoch’s face. He was hallucinating, that was the only explanation for this and he had to snap out of it. He must have been hallucinating for days now. The Professor was probably alone in his office, where he would laugh at the absurdity of this if he ever found out.

Murdoch made no move to leave his seat, but Marty was still on edge, trying to wake himself up.

The words were gentle, a murmur, but they still drenched him in ice water. “You’re not dreaming. You saved my life.”

He didn’t have to think about the words or their formation this time. “No, _Merrill_ saved your life. Not me. She had to talk me into helping her, and then when I read that book I tried to talk her out of it. You don’t want me, Professor.” He was shaking thoroughly by the time he was done, putting one hand on top of the other to try to still himself. His eyes found the Professor’s own, berating himself for his weakness as soon as they did, but Murdoch’s eyes were soft and reassuring and Marty wanted so badly to fall into them, to just _trust_ him.

But this was a test if not a hallucination. A test in order to ensure his dedication to the Experiment. Murdoch must assume he would fail.

The Professor wasn’t breaking yet though.

“You mistake me for a fool, Marty. Did you think I would merely ignore the fact that you aided Merrill? That you didn’t walk away? And how you’ve been acting strangely this past week? I have taken more than just an active interest in your progress here, Marty. I have been blind to certain desires but no longer. It would be wrong of me to lie to you of my intentions.”

“Your intentions?” Marty squeaked out around the massive lump in his throat.

One side of Murdoch’s mouth lifted, widening his smile. If it was possible his eyes turned even softer, his words echoing to him in a whisper that was no less careful than his previous murmur. “I would like to court you, Marty. If you would not be too let down dating a man of my age.”

He couldn’t hesitate at this, even if Marty knew it was a dream. He could hesitate with anything else, but _not_ this. He held up a hand. “Whoa, stop right there. Don’t try to put words in my mouth. I am… very much into this.”

The Professor’s subsequent smile was big and warm and generous, melting down Marty’s entire world.

The poison tended to have the same effect.

The blood hadn’t sat right in his stomach all day, festering in his belly like a sickness that he ignored for the most part until he could ignore it no longer. Marty didn’t think he’d be able to make it to the Professor’s office, but suddenly there was nothing more important for him to do. There was a high probability that Murdoch would know what to do, and even if he didn’t then Marty could use a look of sympathy or two.

He stumbled and almost fell, but his withering hands grasped the wall and pushed himself back upright. If he could just make it to the Professor’s office then he’d be fine. If he could just….

He started coughing up blood long before he pushed his way into Murdoch’s office, but he upchucked all over Murdoch’s nice carpet as soon as he caught sight of the man sitting at his desk, writing in that damned journal. Their eyes locked for just a split second, not short enough to ignore the confusion on the Professor’s face, palpable since Marty was about two hours too early, and then Marty’s mouth opened in a gasp and blood poured out, _his blood_ , thick and red and not black but _horrible_ and it went everywhere, coating the carpet. At least he had the good sense to push himself back so he wouldn’t get any on Murdoch.

Murdoch didn’t seem to care. Marty’s gaze had fallen in his disorientation and _pain_ and the only thing he could see were Murdoch’s hands. Hands grasping at the desk to support himself as he rose, hands hurriedly clearing everything off his desk to land ungracefully on the floor, hands going up to his mouth, hands reaching for Marty as he started choking on his ‘sorry.’ As in ‘sorry I ruined your carpet,’ ‘sorry I ruined our first date.’ ‘Sorry I ruined _everything._ ’

The blood wasn’t what was freaking him out oddly enough, despite that it was coming out of him like a macabre waterfall, wave after wave of poison leaving him but poison that had already twisted and wreaked havoc on his body. No, it was Murdoch’s ghostly face and his anguished eyes that did the trick.  

And then another wave, this one a wave of darkness, pulled him under.  

* * *

 

Marty would have much rather preferred their first date to not consist of being tied down to Murdoch’s desk and having every drop of blood drained out of him. But he told himself that lying there, waiting to die, listening to the thumping of Murdoch’s heart, at least he wasn’t alone.

The Professor had taken away the clock because Marty complained it was driving him up the wall, but Marty wasn’t sure whether the tantalizing call of Murdoch’s heartbeat was much better. It beat unsteadily, fast and faster even though his words sounded so sure; at least, the words that were heard around the perpetual roaring in Marty’s ears. A roaring that had no explanation.

There was a needle in his arm and a bag attached to a pole behind him, which Murdoch checked periodically. In his torment, Marty could feel the prick of the needle entering his skin over and over, pulling out of him the only life he had. Murdoch paced around his desk for the first lifetime until he went down on his knees, an effort that Marty hadn’t expected, hands wrapping around Marty’s own when he tried to pull out the needle.

The whine worked its way up his throat, followed by a cough and a whimper. “I need blood, please.”

Murdoch shook his head with a strength that Marty could no longer find. “We talked about this, Marty. Feeding from me would not only end the Experiment, but it also would fail to eradicate the tainted blood from your system. We must drain your body of all blood before you can begin to heal.”

The Professor said that this would work: draining him dry and then pumping him full of good, _pure_ blood again. He would have to die first before he could be saved, but Murdoch assured him that he would come out of this. Nothing was said about a rain check, even though that’s all Marty could think about as he was strapped down to the Professor’s desk, halfway to breaking down and sobbing. Murdoch swore he wouldn’t leave him and that was enough, until Marty realized that his presence was probably only to ensure Marty wouldn’t feed from anyone.

Marty turned away from the Professor. Everything was taking on a grayish tint now, the black so sharp and the white fading as each second ticked by loudly in his ears, even without the menacing clock to aid him. Murdoch leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, more into his forehead since it hung on his skin like a promise. The Professor’s moist lips drove away the fever clinging to his bones just in time for him to welcome the chill of death.

He didn’t expect Murdoch to be the one to quicken his death. He didn’t want to think about any of this anymore.

_“Please.”_

The Professor leaned closer, so close that his breath ghosted against Marty’s cheek. He was so tired, too tired to listen, but Murdoch’s words drew him anyway. “Listen to me, Marty. I know you don’t know anything about me, but I promise that will change. I just need you to be strong for me and you are, you’re so strong right now. So don’t quit. I promise you that things will get better. I will make sure they get better, Marty.”

“How…?”

The wave came slower this time, but Marty’s once power could never live up to its own.

* * *

 

His eyes seemed to open before he fully regained consciousness.

He laid there, half-alive and half-dead, hoping he was clinging onto consciousness rather than life. The wall he stared at was a soft gold that didn’t hurt his eyes, but what hurt every part of him was not knowing what had been real. He wasn’t in his coffin, but not being able to see the Professor or hear him pace was setting him on edge.

Marty was no longer strapped down to the desk that had become his nightmares, that much he was sure of. No, whatever he was lying on was soft and cushiony, much softer than his coffin. He swallowed and winced when he realized how dry his throat was, but his eyes felt mysteriously misty when he finally caught sight of Murdoch, the mere presence of him centering Marty. The Professor’s head rested on his folded hands, hands so close his pinky touched Marty’s covered leg.

And where the hell was he? The curiosity won over the remaining queasiness and dizziness. Marty blinked and glanced around, certain pieces coming together and telling him that he was in some type of room that was definitely not the Professor’s office, lying in someone’s bed. Marty looked again at Murdoch, whose hair obscured half of his face as he slept. A man who never seemed to sleep. Or eat. Or cared about anything other than the Experiment. 

As if aware of Marty’s staring, the Professor stirred, eyes opening slowly and latching onto Marty’s. The vampire would shift uncomfortably under his gaze if he wasn’t so afraid to move, waiting for cramps to tear through him mercilessly, the poison making its presence known again. Waiting for his limbs to seize and his body to begin rejecting blood again. Waiting for….

Murdoch’s smile, his head rising and hand moving to rest on top of Marty’s.

Okay, he hadn’t been waiting for that. But still, it was nice all the same.

The Professor moved closer to him, if that was even possible considering how close he already was. A hand rose to brush back Marty’s hair. His other hand moved from Marty’s hand to Marty’s leg, squeezing it in a way that felt far too intimate than Marty deserved. He couldn’t understand how the Professor couldn’t see it, see that it had been all Merrill and zero help from him. He hadn’t even wanted to help Murdoch in the first place, hadn’t believed there was anything wrong. If it had not been for Merrill’s continuous cajoling and insistence that something was wrong, then this person leaning over him right now, as if protecting him from something, wouldn’t be here.

“How are you feeling?”

Wouldn’t be here asking how he was _feeling._ As if Marty could honestly put words together to form a response.

He smirked, figuring some effort on his part was needed. “Just peachy, doc. How ‘bout you?”

His stomach betrayed him though, growling loudly in the silence of the room. Murdoch turned away for a moment, reaching for something behind him that Marty couldn’t see. The reaction was instantaneous as soon as he caught sight of the bag of blood which Murdoch was inserting a straw into: Marty salivating, practically whimpering and doing everything he could to prevent himself from reaching out for the bag. Murdoch bended the top half of the straw quickly and pushed it in between his lips. “It’s safe. It’s been tested.” Though Marty hardly needed literal reassurance. The first few sips were positively heaven, but as Marty continued to drink he searched Murdoch’s face for any measure of disapproval or disgust.

There were neither of those things though, only what suspiciously looked like relief.

Still, when Murdoch offered him a second bag he shook his head. He needed to learn restraint. Just because Murdoch wasn’t disgusted by him drooling over one bag of blood didn’t mean he could greedily drink another. Murdoch, however, shushed Marty’s pleas as he tried to get Marty again and again to accept the second bag. “You need to regain your strength, Marty. There is no weakness, or shame,” he added pointedly, “in that. Please.”

At Murdoch’s ‘please,’ he could no longer disappoint, reaching for the bag with trembling hands. Halfway through the bag there was the image of the blood-soaked carpet and of Murdoch’s hands too, either on him or reaching for him, hands that just never let up, never left him alone, and he shoved the bag away again. It was everything he could do to swallow down what remained in his mouth.

Murdoch put it away after that, but his intentions turned far more sinister. “Before you fell unconscious you mentioned something about a rain check.” Marty was sure he made a face. Why must he be reminded of this now? Murdoch’s sly smile only formed butterflies in Marty’s still oversensitive stomach. “Still,” he went on. “I will not press you while you continue to heal. If you are still interested?”

Marty nodded, recoiling in shock as Murdoch drew a napkin to the vampire’s lips, dabbing away any remaining blood. Marty relaxed upon realizing what the Professor was doing; all the better if he didn’t look exactly like what he was. “Just let me rest for a few days before you kick it up a notch. Or ten. Unless… that really turned you off, didn’t it?”

The Professor came forward even more, holding Marty’s hand within his own again, squeezing it tightly. Marty wanted to tell him that he wasn’t dying again, or so he hoped. “Not at all. No. It… scared me.”

Marty smiled at the memory, when inside he was screaming and sobbing and flailing. Better the Professor didn’t know that. “Never seen you speechless before, Professor.”

Murdoch’s eyes fell, fidgeting with the sheet Marty was laying under. It suddenly occurred to the vampire that this must be Murdoch’s room, Murdoch’s _bed_ even. This should have made him even more uncomfortable, but he felt more safe and secure than helpless. Marty once heard something along the lines of: a true friend will stay with you when you're sick, or maybe in this case, _lover_. If the Professor brought him here then that must mean _something._ Maybe nothing good, but Marty was tired from worrying about things he didn’t understand in the slightest. “Before I had no reason to be. You scared me to death, Marty.”

“Yeah, well. Not quite.” Drowsiness was pulling at him again; he knew he was slurring his words and blinking frantically to keep awake, even though it was still an effort to feel much of anything at all.

“Almost.”

Marty cleared his throat then, thinking about the blood waiting for him in the bag he hadn’t finished. That wasn’t all he was thinking about though. “So, about that rain check?”

Far more appetizing than blood, Marty figured.

At least for now. 

**FIN**


End file.
